


Our Angel

by PatPrecieux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Minor Character Death, S.I.D.S.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 06:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9807893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/pseuds/PatPrecieux
Summary: John and Sherlock grieve a terrible loss, and find their souls.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This has entered a friend's world. I just need to find some hope in an abyss of sorrow.

The casket had been so small, white with tiny pink roses embroidered in the lining. It was lost to the cremation, but a plain wooden box was unthinkable.

 

That morning, like many others, Sherlock had been the one to go to the nursery, allowing John a few more minutes rest. He would admit to no one how he cherished the private moments with the small person who could make him behave like a besotted fool.

 

Reaching out to touch her, Sherlock was confused to find her so cold. Stupidly, he would think later, he searched the room for an open window. It was as if his mind couldn't process what was clearly an undeniable, unbearable truth.

 

Dazed, he had somehow made his way downstairs where he told John that Rosie wasn't waking up. Sherlock's voice had been even and calm, but his face had sent the doctor racing up the stairs.

 

Later, the detective could only remember two things, sitting on their bed and John's screams. Not the feral, animalistic growls that had heralded Mary's death. These were screams of anguish and utter devastation.

 

Mrs.Hudson had appeared, wide eyed with fear in the flat, only to find Sherlock unmoving and mute in the bedroom. The nursery door was open and gave her a view that would always be with her.

 

John sat in the antique rocker, his daughter in his arms. It was hauntingly beautiful, but Rosie's dusky pink cheeks were now the pale blue of death.

 

Martha had called Mycroft, who in turn had shown his oft hidden humanity by offering concern and aid. He brought Lestrade and Molly in a private car, not wanting to create a media circus at Baker Street.

 

The older Holmes and the Inspector helped Sherlock and John dress, and stayed with them. Molly had gently carried Rosie, wrapped in her favorite honeybee blanket, to a waiting ambulance.

 

The thought that Molly, who loved her, had done the postmortem was a small comfort. As Dr.Hooper, she clinically signed a death certificate indicating COD as Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. There would be no explanation, and no blame. It happened.

 

With the medical particulars in hand, Hooper put aside her objectivity and Molly shed bitter tears for a life not even begun.

 

~~~***~~~

 

The days after that had been a blur, including the private service. John, at least on a medical level, could understand if not accept the unpredictable nature of S.I.D.S., but Sherlock was obsessed with finding a solution as if approaching a case.

 

He had even demanded access to the autopsy records and photos. While remaining kind, Molly, Greg, and Mycroft had strongly cautioned Sherlock against exposing John to any of it, going so far as to threaten separating the two men.

 

This had sobered the detective considerably. The thought of being away from John was beyond the pale. Good as his word, Sherlock had conducted his "investigation" in private. In the end, having to admit there was no solution was crushing.

 

John had grieved. Sitting on the floor in the nursery surrounded by Rosie's toys, looking through photos, boxing up the fairy like clothes, some meant to be grown into, he grieved. Embraced in Sherlock's arms on the sofa or in their bed, he sobbed, cursed and collapsed in exhaustion. Sherlock was his strength, but he, did not grieve.

Two weeks after the service, John had met with Mycroft, Molly and Greg. All harbored the same concerns. 

 

"John, I in no way wish to add to your troubles, but I find myself in fear for my brother."

 

Molly chewed her lip and stammered, "Is he, are you watching for..?"

 

John smiled grimly, "Using? No, and yes I keep a lookout."

 

"Mate, if you need me to do an off the books check."

 

"Thanks Greg but I honestly believe Sherlock would never do that to me ever again. My biggest worry is that he's shut down. Not being able to answer why this happened has paralysed him."

 

Molly sighed, "You know there ARE no answers with S.I.D.S."

 

"Only too well, but convince Sherlock of that."

 

"Sentiment is somewhat foreign to me doctor but I understand enough to know my brother needs to grieve."

 

"Mycroft, it's not like we can take him to the Yard and force him."

 

John sighed, "He knows that Greg. What Mycroft means is we have to help him. I think I have a way."

 

~~~***~~~

 

That weekend, against Sherlock's vehement protests, John invited Mycroft, Greg, and Molly along with Mrs.Hudson for drinks and a light supper. Sherlock remained aloof and eerily quiet, refusing both food and drink.

 

When the table had been cleared, John came out of the bedroom with a box. Asking everyone to sit, he cleared his throat. "We haven't been able to properly thank you four for helping Sherlock and me through losing Rosie. So I wanted you here tonight for a special moment."

Opening the box revealed a beautiful glass angel. The body was a deep pink, with crystal wings and face topped with a golden halo. Between two delicate glass hands was nestled a glass pink rose.

 

"We agreed, that we couldn't face scattering her ashes, but Sherlock left it up to me. I found a company that uses the ashes to make glass sculptures. This is what I chose, Sherlock. This is Rosie."

 

It was clear that Sherlock was stunned, he froze in place. John walked over to his lover and held out the angel. With trembling hands, Sherlock took it in his grasp.

 

Suddenly, he raised it above his head, and for a second, it seemed he was going to smash the angel to the floor. Instead, he lowered it gently as he collapsed to his knees. Burying his face in the warmth of John's jumper, he began to sob.

 

No one moved, except Mrs.Hudson who took the figurine and placed it safely on the mantle. Both hands now free, Sherlock pulled John to the floor with him. The doctor rocked the taller man as he had rocked his child, and sobbed with him.

 

Some later, Sherlock got up and wiped his face. Helping John off the floor, he spoke softly, "It's beautiful John. Perfect. Thank you."

 

John kissed a sharp cheekbone. "There's a place for a candle. When you light it, the glass shines."

 

Molly found a candle, and soon the figure glowed softly on the mantle. "John, this is really lovely."

 

"Ta Molly. Rosie was the light of our lives. Now she can still shine over us, so we don't lose our way."

 

Sherlock took John's hand and smiled sadly at his brother and friends, "So we never lose one another."

 

~~~***~~~

 

Six months later:

 

Life gradually adjusted to yet another new normal for the men of 221B Baker Street. Cases were solved, takeout consumed, tender love made in dark nights and early mornings. Through it all, a candle always glowed through the rose colored glass.

 

One evening, John sat by Sherlock and looked in his eyes. "Luv, I need to ask you if it's time to clear out the nursery. Another child and parents could put the things to good use."

 

Sherlock rose and went to the mantle lighting the candle behind the glass angel. Returning to the sofa, he took both John's hands in his. "John, I agree the nursery should be put to good use, but I think it should be by us. Not right away, even I know it is too soon. But we, you and I, have so much love to give."

 

John felt the tears welling up in his eyes, "I wouldn't have thought it possible for me to love you more. It seems I was wrong."

 

Sherlock swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Rosie will never be far from us John, and her shining life was extinguished much too soon. But oh my dear John, millions live for years and are never as loved as your daughter. She was so loved."

 

"OUR daughter, and yes she was. Perhaps someday, we will fill the nursery again. Until then, we are going to love and cherish one another and be thankful for every day we had with our little girl."

 

Sherlock kissed John tenderly and then turned both their faces to the mantle and the shimmering glass, "Our daughter, our Rosie, our angel."

**Author's Note:**

> This is, I'm sure, the only story of this type I will ever write. There is no solace in the death of a child except knowing that child was loved.


End file.
